Joy and Wonder at the Detroit Airport

Image courtesy random letters via Creative Commons.

I travel on average about a week each month for work, which means I spend a lot of time in airports. Travel has become more and more challenging and unpleasant (crowded planes and tighter seats, delays, hours spent on runways, meager food service even on long trips, etc.), but the airports themselves have become more and more pleasant and accommodating. LaGuardia has a huge salad bar with lots of options for vegans like me; chair massage spas are popping up all over; and free wifi and charging stations are expanding, making it possible to work during layovers and not have my computer run out of battery power.

It’s because of these changes that I don’t mind long layovers. They’re less stressful than short layovers, during which I’m too often running a mile through a terminal with my backpack on and my wheeled suitcase behind me saying, “Excuse me! Excuse me!” as I race to make a tight connection.

Recently, I had a long layover at the Detroit Airport, which is my favorite airport in the U.S. Why? Because of two artistic additions. In the atrium in the very middle of the airport there is a fountain that I could stare at for hours. The plumes of water are like dancers, beautifully and surprisingly choreographed. But it is the tunnel connecting Terminal A to Terminals B and C that often fills me with joy and wonder. Joy and wonder? In an airport?!

As one descends the long escalator to the tunnel, one is greeted by a music and light show. The translucent walls of the tunnel are designed to look like a cross between a seascape, a mountainscape, and a cloudscape, and behind the walls are ever-changing lights in a rainbow of colors. Choreographed to the music, the lights illuminate the walls and ceiling, undulating, moving, dancing. It is a gorgeous work of art.

So when I am not in a rush, I stand still on the moving walkway and just watch. And no matter how far I have traveled, how long or arduous the journey, or whether I have spent a night in an airport hotel because I’ve missed a connection somewhere, I always smile.

I’m aware that the tunnel may be using more electricity than if it were simply lit with fluorescent lights. I’m aware that such extra use of energy takes its toll; but I appreciate that the planners of this airport thought to bring art into our experience, and that this art makes a world of difference.

Yes, I experience joy and wonder in the Detroit airport. Imagine that.

~ Zoe

Zoe Weil, President, Institute for Humane Education
Author of Most Good, Least Harm, Above All, Be Kind, and The Power and Promise of Humane Education
My TEDxConejo talk: “Solutionaries”
My TEDxDirigo talk: “The World Becomes What You Teach
My TEDxYouth@BFS “Educating for Freedom”

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My Competitive Nature on Mount Katahdin and My Failure of Agatsu

Image courtesy of natreb via Creative Commons.

I practice Aikido, a non-competitive martial art in which we learn how to blend with an aggressor and diffuse aggression without harm. One of the concepts we learn about in Aikido is “agatsu,” which means victory over oneself. To me practicing agatsu means focusing on what I need to improve, attending to my own challenges, attitudes, and actions, and not thinking about what others do. I find this very hard.

A couple of weeks ago, my husband and I awoke at 3:45 a.m. and drove to Baxter State Park, home of Mt. Katahdin, Maine’s biggest and most magnificent mountain. Our plan was to hike the most challenging route: up the Cathedral Trail (so named because of its many challenging spires), over the Knife Edge (so named because of its narrow path with 2,000 foot drops on either side), and down Helon Taylor, an exposed long descent.

When we arrived, the parking lot was overflowing, and by the time we signed in at 7:40 a.m., 300 people had already begun their ascent from just this one trailhead. It felt a bit like Times Square. We began passing groups of people, and because I was so shocked by the crowds, I began counting them. But what started as a way to mentally record the numbers of people turned into a competition. I felt proud that we middle-aged 50 somethings were passing scores of 20 somethings. I’m sure I sped up to pass even more people. A few commented on our speed, reinforcing my competitive nature.

It was a rainy and windy day, and when we got to the peak it was completely socked in. My husband’s glasses fogged up within minutes of wiping them off. We were prepared to tackle the Knife Edge despite the weather, but the fact that my husband wouldn’t be able to see was reason enough to abandon the plan and take a safer route down. I felt so disappointed. So down we went, continuing to pass people. By the time we reached the bottom, only 6.5 hours after we’d begun the 11 mile, 4200’ elevation gain, we’d passed 120 people. Only 3 people – strapping young men – had passed us. We were home by 6 p.m.

As we ate dinner, I commented that I felt like we’d just gone to the gym for a long workout rather than climbed Mt. Katahdin. We’d raced up and down our beloved mountain. Our visibility above treeline was barely 20 feet, so the sweeping, majestic, heart-stopping views that we’d once marvelled at, were just memories from years ago. There was nothing scary about the climb this time because we couldn’t see how far we could fall. I realized that it had been more of a competition than an experience.

On one level we “won.” We’d pushed our bodies hard, and they’d achieved an impressive result. I’d demonstrated (to myself at least) what a small, short-legged, middle-aged vegan could accomplish. I posted our photo from the foggy, rainy peak and the description of passing all those people on Facebook, and received the kudos (in the form of Facebook “likes”) I wanted.

But I’m struck by my lack of agatsu. True victory over myself would have meant the following:

  1. I wouldn’t have been so disappointed by the need to take a different route down.
  2. I wouldn’t have counted those I passed or evaluated the men who passed us as younger and stronger than I.
  3. I certainly wouldn’t have posted the numbers on Facebook of those we passed.
  4. I would have paused and stopped to appreciate the beauty up close, since I couldn’t see the beauty far away.
  5. I would have eaten dinner having known that I experienced Katahdin, not raced through it

Agatsu is a powerful concept, asking that we not compare ourselves to others, but simply work to attend to ourselves, and in so doing, improve ourselves. Next time I climb Katahdin I hope to remember what I’ve written today and practice agatsu more consciously. And I hope to take this lesson into other aspects of my life, competing less with others and practicing victory over myself with more effort and commitment.

~ Zoe

Zoe Weil, President, Institute for Humane Education
Author of Most Good, Least Harm, Above All, Be Kind, and The Power and Promise of Humane Education
My TEDxConejo talk: “Solutionaries”
My TEDxDirigo talk: “The World Becomes What You Teach

Get tickets now for the October 13 NYC debut of my 1-woman show — My Ongoing Problems with Kindness: Confessions of MOGO Girl at United Solo, the world’s largest solo theatre festival.

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The Story of Stuff: Toxic Cosmetics

The Story of Stuff website continues to create short, animated films about the hidden effects of our everyday purchases. This one, on cosmetics, examines the toxic ingredients in our personal care products. Take a look, and then check out the other films at storyofstuff.org:

Zoe Weil, President, Institute for Humane Education
Author of Most Good, Least Harm and The Power and Promise of Humane Education
My TEDx talk: “The World Becomes What You Teach

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Revel in the Little Passings & Let Your Life Burst Forth

Spring is the season in which we get to observe most obviously the miracle of life. Every day in May, when I walk outside, there is some more new life to experience. If I sat still long enough, I suspect I could see the lady slipper’s grow and bloom, and the star flowers, and the bluets, and the lilacs. Everything happens so fast. Some years, the students in our M.Ed. and Humane Education Certificate Programs at the Institute for Humane Education come for their week-long residency in May. I always remind them during Monday’s outdoor activity at our beautiful facility in coastal Maine to pay close attention to a few spots on the property. I let them know that they will be completely transformed by Friday. It is rare that we get to witness the unfolding of so much life so quickly.

Rabbi Rami M. Shapiro wrote this poem about life and death:

Life and death,
a twisted vine sharing a single root

A water bright green
stretching to top a twisted yellow
only to wither itself
as another green unfolds overhead.

One leaf atop another
yet under the next,
a vibrant tapestry of arcs and falls
all in the act of becoming.

Death is the passing of life
And life is the stringing together of so many little passings.

Take some time this spring to go outdoors and witness the stringing together of so many little passings. Know that your life, too, is one of these little passings, so precious and fleeting, so deserving of care and celebration and love and joy. Know that your brief life has the power to contribute, to nurture the unfolding of what is good and kind and positive. Revel in this spring and let this season burst you forth in full expression of your life.

Zoe Weil
Author of Most Good, Least Harm

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Dyeing One’s Hair…Gray?

When I was younger I was certain I would never dye my hair when I began to gray. After all, I already eschewed shaving and managed to stand tall (well, as tall as I could at 5’1”) even in a bathing suit surrounded by women who shaved every bit of hair they were told to through our culture. But it wasn ’t easy. And eventually, I reluctantly decided to shave when I worried that my appearance might interfere with my message as a humane educator. If students found my hairy legs disgusting, they might reject my message out of hand, or so I concluded. Ironically, years later, one of my students told me that she was really inspired by the fact that I didn ’t shave my legs and that it empowered her to make her own choices in life, based on her own values, rather than to succumb to peer and societal pressures. (Take a look at this recent New York Times article about celebrities who aren’t shaving and the flack they’re receiving.)

Now back to gray hair. As my hair began to gray, I girded myself with all my will to resist the pressure to dye it. For the most part I’ve resisted successfully, although I occasionally put henna in it, which rinses out after about a month. I get all sorts of compliments on my graying hair, but I always think they’re backhanded compliments, and that what the person who’s praising my hair is really thinking is something like, “Wow, you are courageous to not dye your hair! And it’s not so bad-looking either! Sure, you’d look a lot younger if you dyed it, but good for you!” I may be wrong about this, or just paranoid, but it’s hard to believe that people actually mean it when they say they like my gray hair. I always joke and say that I think my gray looks like highlights.

Well, guess what? Young celebrities are now highlighting their hair … gray. Here’s an article from the New York Times for your viewing pleasure, with photos of young women with dyed gray hair.

Most dyes aren’t good for our bodies. We absorb them into our skin through our scalp. Many of them are tested on animals, force-fed to rabbits, mice, guinea pigs, and so on in quantities that kill and put into the eyes of bunnies who receive no pain relief or anesthesia. They create waste, some of which is toxic, in every portion of their brief lifecycle. Dyeing our hair is a costly and time-consuming habit. Yet I understand why so many women believe that it’s MOGO (most good) to dye their hair. I sympathize. As women age, we become more and more invisible within a culture that so valorizes youth, so dyeing one’s hair feels like an easy way to gain visibility and maintain attention, not to mention self-esteem.

But perhaps now we middle aged and elderly women can let our gray hair shine. After all, young women are paying lots of money to look like us.

Zoe Weil
Author of Most Good, Least Harm, Above All, Be Kind and Claude and Medea

Image courtesy of kevindooley via Creative Commons.

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Resisting the Collective: Choosing MOGO When Desires & Values Conflict

This summer I was at an event, and I met a woman who was my age (late forties), but who looked at least a decade younger than I. I marveled at her wrinkle-free, perfect skin and flowing brown hair. She lives in Florida, land of sun damage, whereas I live in Maine, where we can’t even make Vitamin D six months out of the year because the sun is too low in the sky. What good genes she must have to have escaped the ravages of time and elements, I thought.

She was quick to inform me that she dyes her hair, Botoxes her wrinkles, and covers her skin with tanning cream and make up. I do none of these things. She was encouraging. I could look as young and good as she through such a regimen.

When she left, I turned to the woman next to me and said, “I want to look like that.”

“No you don’t, Zoe,” she replied.

“Yes, I do!” I insisted.

“If you did, you would,” she said; and of course, she was right.

But in fact, I do want to look younger; I just don’t want to succumb to the societal messages that insist I have to change myself to do so. I don’t want to buy into the idea that natural aging is bad and must be remedied. I have always wanted to grow older gracefully, at least in theory.

Plus, I’m busy. When I prioritize what’s important to me, regularly spending time in a hair salon or doctor’s office, or on a plastic surgery table (or recovering from surgery)isn’t high on the list. When I’m not working, I want to be outdoors, or with my family and friends, or practicing Aikido, or running up a mountain, or swimming in the ocean.

But I do feel that persistent tug, and I do know that my values and my desires are in conflict. I want so many things that contradict each other: a restored planet, but also the various technologies that pollute; a simple life, but also the many things – appliances, clothes, and multitude of stuff – that are pleasurable; a locally-based, MOGO lifestyle, but also to travel to new places.

So far, in the realm of personal grooming, I am largely able to resist my desires in favor of my values. But the tug is always there, always reminding me that making MOGO choices — however we define them — can be challenging, when what is most important to us is eclipsed by pressures that stem from a combination of wants, fear, society, peers, and systems that we didn’t create but which influence our lives and choices.

The Borg, a collective from the Star Trek universe that turns humanoids into machines, say that resistance is futile. It is not. The inner struggles we face and confront with conviction allow us to grow and choose consciously and conscientiously. And in this struggle, we define who we are and what is important to us. We also get to more more fully live our epitaph and define the meaning of our lives.

~ Zoe

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Microglass: The Little Gift That Opened a Big Avenue for Reverence & Wonder

My husband has a high-powered magnifying glass which he’s put on a string to wear around his neck. Mostly, he forgets about it, and it’s come out quite seldom in the past few years. When we were heading to Newfoundland last month, I asked him to make sure to bring it. For some reason I always forget the term “magnifying glass,” and as I’ve struggled to recall it, I’ve begun referring to it as the “microglass.” I was the one who mostly wore the microglass in Newfoundland, and on my birthday in July, my husband handed me a small gift wrapped in a Newfoundland brochure. It was the microglass.

So now it’s mine, and I have a few things to say about it. First, this was a great gift, and choosing great gifts for people who don’t need any more things, who try to live by the MOGO principle, who don’t want to contribute to waste, etc., can be tricky. How perfect that my husband passed on something already part of our household that I loved so much.

Second, the microglass has opened up a new world for me, not just the world one would expect, of tiny flower pistils and bits of dew on spider webs and lichen swelling with moisture, but the world of pausing, observing, reveling in the present, in beauty, in mystery. The microglass is my ticket to being still and experiencing wonder and awe, key ingredients to reverence and joy and the unfolding of wise choices.

What a gift this little microglass is.

If you have an avenue for reverence and wonder, please use it, and share it.

~ Zoe

Image courtesy of Vik Nanda via Creative Commons.

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